The Totally Accurate Historic Account of The Walker Wars
by forspitessake
Summary: Carl says I should write a history book documenting our... shall we say, misadventures. Daryl says I need to look up the difference between a history book and a diary. Rick says that I need to stop asking Carl to proofread it when it consists of potential smut and explicit language. Beth just thinks the whole thing is downright hilarious, and, well, I'm rather inclined to agree.
1. The One Where I Lied

Chapter One

_Or_

The One Where I Lied And Said I Don't Do Serious

_Dear Future Historians,_

_Look, I get this isn't your traditional history book, but, well, tradition has pretty much gone to the pits anyway. I'm a damn fiction writer, not a history writer; as a general rule, I don't do serious. Life's too short for that, so you'll have to bear with me. Also, I cuss a lot. But hey, you know what, that makes it interesting, right? History books back in my day were a major freakin' snooze fest, so really I'm doing you all a favor. You're welcome, future grade school children._

_To be honest, this wasn't really my idea. Carl had said something the other day about how one day no one will ever even know how it happened or what exactly went down. Which is true. Part of me thinks, "Well, fuck, how could they not know?", but the rational part realizes. Realizes that sure, we'll tell our kids about it (it being what I like to call the Walker Wars), and they'll tell their kids, and so on and so forth, but without an actual physical, written account of it, it'll be lost. Our history, us, won't even matter cause no one will remember. We heard about it in school growing up in the old world, about ancient civilizations who relied on oral stories passed down from generation to generation to keep their history going. And a great majority of those stories are gone, no one has ever seen them. No one knows them._

_Then, Carl told me to write it down for us._

_Rick thinks it's a good idea, anyway. And when Rick thinks something's a good idea, you don't fucking argue. Because, well, it's Rick. And Rick's the shit, to put it simply. Daryl thinks I'm a moron and that it's useless, but he knows how I like to write, and he knows I've been feeling uninspired for months. So he says if it helps me find a creative outlet and gets me to stop bitchin' about it, then "fuckin' go for it. Just don' put me innit, ya got that?" Sorry Daryl, but it just wouldn't be the same without you and your charming personality._

_So here goes._

I couldn't honestly tell you exactly when it all really started. We'd been hearing about it for months in other countries; news blips about an aggressive virus caused by who the hell knows what, and cured by 'fuck-if-we-know'. No one really paid attention to it. Then it got to the U.S. about half a year later, and they told everyone to get flu shots, to help calm the nation-wide panic that was spreading faster than the disease itself. Of course, the flu vaccination did jack shit, but everyone was kind of expecting that anyway. Still, the public turned a blind eye to it, right up until the point where Grandma started munching on Grandpa like it was Easter brunch, and that was when shit really hit the fan. It took only two months for the pandemic to wipe out nearly everyone in the country.

It hit us- King County, Georgia, to be specific, on a Monday, which just about explains everything anyway. Monday, September 27th, 2010. I can recall the day with startling clarity. It was the day we all lost nearly everyone we knew and loved. It was the day I lost my mom, my dad, my friends, so something like that is hard to forget, even if I wanted to.

It wasn't all bad, though, little Peter can attest to that.

Dad was wealthy, came from old southern money and told me I would never have to work a day in my life. Despite that, I still wanted a job. I wanted to do something, needed to do something, to feel like I was useful; so I got myself hired at the local diner as a waitress at the age of sixteen, and worked there for a good five years. It was good for me, I liked to work.

I had clocked in early that day, said my hellos to my co-worker and close friend, Hannah, as we tied our aprons on, and then went to unlock the entrance door. Morris was in the kitchen already, prepping and warming up the stoves for breakfast. I said my hellos to him as well.

Hannah and Morris were good people. Hannah had two kids, a boy and a girl. Jamie was her oldest, she was eleven, and Billy was just five, and I loved them all dearly. Hannah was older than me by a good ten years, but we were fast friends and she and had I counted on each other like sisters, so she made me Billy's godmother when he was born, and he and Jamie called me Auntie from that day on. Well, Billy did when he finally learned to talk. When Hannah and Andrew had arguments and ultimately went through their divorce, Billy and Jamie would stay with me in my apartment in old downtown.

Morris was the owner of the diner and the cook. He was an old, curmudgeonly middle-aged man who liked to pretend he was meaner than he was to cover up the fact that he was really just an old softie. No stranger questioned him on it though; he looked mean with all his scars and tattoos and muscles as big as your head. He was black too, so you know that scared off all the little old southern ladies who still hadn't quite caught up with the times. Pretty sure he'd been in prison or maybe even military, he talked like it at least, but I loved that stupid man like family anyways, just as he did in return. I think he had a wife at some point, but she didn't seem to be around anymore at the time and he never really talked about his family. Never talked much at all. So, I assumed he had none to speak of.

Wish I hadn't. Wish I'd asked. Wish I'd tried.

(Wish a lot of things.)

It was a nice day, sunny and clear, a comfortable 75 degrees but with the usual humidity. It wasn't too bad. I mean, it was Georgia; humidity sort of comes with the territory. Hannah had clocked out about thirty minutes before so she could go pick up her kids from school. She felt bad for leaving me, always did, but from about two to four thirty the diner was practically empty and it was useless for both of us to be on the floor. I was just finishing wiping down the breakfast bar counter as it neared three PM when I heard the bells on the door chime, signaling that someone had just walked in, and then my name was being called.

"Hey, Pooka!"

Alright, so not technically my name. Pooka was a nickname given to me by Carl back when he was still a toddler. Like Billy, I'd known Carl ever since he was born, but unlike Billy I was never made his godmother. Which was fine by me, Carl was still practically a little brother to me, while Lori made a good surrogate mother when my birth mom couldn't step up to the plate. Rick had always been different though. I always loved Rick, he'd always felt like family, but I could never pinpoint if he was like an uncle to me, or a brother, or even a father. None of the titles seemed to fit, but I never questioned it much. He was family, still is, and that's what mattered.

I looked up, grinning happily as my eyes fell on a rather worn out and downtrodden Grimes family. Well, two thirds of the Grimes family. Rick had still been in the hospital after being shot on the job. Such were the hazards of being a cop, I suppose.

"Hey, Lil' Grimes! Mama Grimes!" I'd greeted. Lori and Carl had smiled, but I could see them straining to do so. They had always been like that after hospital visits with Rick. After a month, he had still yet to wake up from his coma. "It's good to see you guys."

"Nice to see ya too, Puck," Lori had replied. And there it was, the name that I went by, the name everyone knew- knows- me as.

I followed them both as they took seats at a booth, but not before grabbing an iced tea and a chocolate milk, their usual drink order. Rick had always been a Coca-Cola kind of guy and I almost filled a glass for him too out of habit, until I remembered.

"How's it going little man?" I asked Carl as I delivered the drinks and slid into the booth beside him, then slung my arm across his shoulders and leaned back casually.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I ain't little," he argued, and hell if my heart hadn't melt to pieces at the sight of him, and what I wouldn't give to see him like that again, like a regular kid. But I didn't have the same thought processes back then, and I'd just smirked and bumped my forehead against his affectionately.

"You'll always be little to me bro, just like I'll always be Pooka to you. Get over it, kid." As grumpy and grouchy as he might try to look when I ruffled his hair, he still had a pleased gleam in his eyes and it made me laugh. "Go on back to the kitchen and tell Morris what you want for lunch, so I can talk to your mom without you listening."

Carl fixed me with an incredulous expression, like he couldn't believe I wasn't trying to cover up my motive as Lori giggled. "Seriously?" he asked.

"Yeah, _seriously_. You know I never lie to you. It wastes time." He groaned, but ducked under the table and crawled out, mumbling under his breath about stupid surrogate sisters.

"So, how's our favorite Sheriff's Deputy doing?" I asked Lori when Carl was out of earshot. She sighed heavily, swirling the straw in her tea after dumping a couple of sugar packets in it, and I could hear Morris exclaim a gruff but otherwise fond, '_best have a damn good reason for bein' back in my kitchen, Lil' Grimes_,' from the kitchen. Lori and I spared a smile for a moment before she answered.

"Same as he's ever been; stable, but still not wakin' up," she shrugged.

I had stared at Lori then for a moment, and really tried looking at her. She was wearing makeup, just like any other day, but I could see the stress lines forming across her forehead, the dark circles beneath her eyes looking as pronounced as ever. Lori was young, older than me, but still young. She was only thirty-six. The Lori I was seeing had aged about fifteen more years, and I was afraid of the effect prolonged stress would have on her. I remember thinking that the Lori I was looking at now shouldn't be there. That Rick shouldn't be in the hospital. That Carl shouldn't be relying on Shane the Douchebag as a father-figure, no matter how short-term it was.

Mostly because Shane was a douchebag.

"You know he's going to make it, right?" I told her. "He's a Grimes. Grimes' are stubborn, and loyal to a fault. He's not going to just lie there and waste away, he won't leave you and Carl. Death himself can't even stop him." She looked doubtful so I continued. "I don't believe in much, Lori, but if there's one thing I have faith in, it's Rick Grimes. He's gonna be fine."

Lori laughed a little, but only a little, as she muttered "Yeah, you're right, you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm Puck fucking Montgomery," I'd stated loftily. That made her snort.

"Technically, you're Lyla Puck fucking Montgomery."

"Eh," I grunted, turning up my nose and waving my hand dismissively, and purposely brought up a another topic she could use as an out if she wanted, "My own mother doesn't even call me Lyla."

And lo and behold, she did. Lori straightened, eyeing me with interest and genuine concern. "Speaking of your mom, how's she doin'?"

I sighed and leaned forward to rest my elbows on the table, cupping my chin in my hand. "Good, actually. Really good. She's been clean ever since she found out she was pregnant, and the little guy is due any day now," I paused. "I'm proud of her."

Lori nodded, seeming relieved and happy for both me and my mom. "How do you feel about bein' a big sister at twenty-one?"

My responding grin was wide and excited. "I've always wanted to be a big sister, ever since I could understand the concept. I won't lie and say it doesn't feel a little weird, I mean, mom's like forty-five, and I'm old enough to have a kid myself. But I'm looking forward to it, and I'm more than up for the challenge."

"God, you're just adorable!" Lori laughed. I shrugged, unashamed.

"I know, I can't even handle myself sometimes."

Lori rolled her eyes and shook her head, though she was still chuckling. "She figure out a name yet?"

"Nah," I snorted. "She says she won't know till she sees him. Whatever the hell that means."

"Mother's intuition, Puck. You'll understand one day," she advised sagely. This time it was my turn to roll my eyes and shake my head. "What about your dad? How does he feel about it?"

I shrugged. "Dad seems to be taking it all right. Which is to say, he doesn't really care. Ever since he and mom split so mom could, and I quote, 'slum it', he doesn't seem to give two shits what she does. Doesn't understand why I continue to go see her though, to support her. For all my Ma's faults, she tries when she thinks it's worth it."

Lori understood that. "Uh-huh, what about the baby's father?"

I can recall being stumped by that one, as I tried to figure out what I was feeling. I hadn't met my half-brother's father, but based on stories I heard from mom, he wasn't a very good man. "Dunno," I said finally. "Ma hasn't seen him in months, she says. Could be locked up again. I'm pretty sure though that if he ever comes near my mom or baby brother again, I might lose it. I do know for sure that won't let either of them get hurt."

"Loyal to a fault," Lori mused with amusement, "How like a Grimes."

"Well, you three were bound to rub off on me sometime."

Just then, Carl came bursting through the kitchen door with a plate held with both his hands, Morris hulking right behind him with a plate of his own.

"Mom," Carl interrupted, "I made you lunch!"

"Did you now?" Lori asked. "I hope it's edible."

"No worse than your pancakes, I'm sure," I teased snarkily.

Lori gasped playfully, pretending to be affronted. "My boys love my pancakes! Ain't that right, Carl?"

I snickered, watching Carl's on point performance of a deer caught in headlights. "Yes, mom," he said slowly, awkwardly, "your pancakes are... great."

His mom let out a short breath, almost a scoff, as her back hit the leather of the booth. "Unbelievable," she said, her eyes wide and a small astonished smile stretching her lips, "This is your fault, ya know," she told me as her son served her her food.

"Pfft, mine?"

"Yeah, yours, you're corrupting my son."

"Wouldn't be a big sis if I wasn't," I shrugged, and looked at Carl, giving him a conspiratorial wink. "Ain't that right, Carl?" I asked him, using his mom's own words. He nodded once in affirmation, turning a proud smile to Lori, one that bared all his teeth.

And then I got the call.

Every time I run through this particular moment in my head it seems to go slowly, though it all went lightning fast for me at the time. As soon as I felt my cell vibrating in my jeans back pocket, I excused myself to answer it, confused when I didn't recognize the number. I answered with a pleasant but questioning hello, replying with an affirmative when the woman on the other side asked if she was talking to Lyla Montgomery-

"I'm calling to inform you that your mother, Virginia Montgomery, has been admitted to Harrison Memorial Hospital's maternity ward. She's gone into emergency labor, and she told us to contact you."

And my heart skipped a beat as my mind tried to send itself into a panic. "W-what?" I asked breathlessly. Lori, Carl, and Morris looked over in concern, and seeing them is what made me pull my shit together. "_Fuck_."

The next thing I knew I was flying out the door with my car keys in hand, uniform still on, and cursing up a storm while still on the phone with the woman from the hospital.

"I'm sorry to also inform you that she... She has been infected."

"_Fuck_," I'd hissed again, "Give me five minutes,"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but we aren't accepting any more visitors today."

"The hell you mean you're not accepting any more visitors? It's the middle of the day!"

"I'm aware, Ms. Montgomery, but we just aren't accepting visitors."

And instantly I was so immeasurably _pissed_ that I growled into receiver "Yeah? The fuck ya ain't! She's my God damn mother lady!" and then hung up.

I had almost been too late. Traffic conditions were weird for three thirty in the afternoon, and it caused me some delay. Helicopters were crowding the horizon, but I never paid them much attention. My focus had been on getting to my mother, to my little brother. When I did arrive, the woman at the front desk, the woman I had presumably spoken on the phone with, tried to stop me but I approached her without any regards, and demanded she tell me where my mom was. Something in my expression or my tone must've told her I wasn't fucking around and she stammered out an answer, and I breezed past her without a second thought.

"You need scrubs, she's in the operating room!" I heard the woman call. I turned.

"Why?"

"Emergency cesarean section. She was infected, and the Doctor didn' wanna risk the babe."

"Then fuckin' put me in scrubs, because there ain't no way in hell she's goin' through this alone," I snapped back, my drawl bleeding through heavily due to my anger and stress. I usually went to great lengths to keep it clamped down, but I couldn't be bothered anymore.

The woman didn't argue, just took me back, put me in scrubs, then led me to the operating room my mother was in. She was awake, mouth attached to a breathing mask, and lying on a table with her belly cut open with three people standing over her and two more off to the side.

"What is she doing in here, who is she?" One of the men to the side demanded to know. Thankfully, the three trying to pull my baby brother from my mother's womb kept their focus on her instead of me. My mother's head flopped to the side, to see who the man had shouted about, and her hand reached for me when she realized who I was. Immediately, I went to her and took her outstretched hand, smoothing wisps of hair from her sweaty face.

"It's alright Mama, I'm here." I comforted as the woman who escorted me explained who I was. The man wasn't happy but I didn't care.

"The hospital is supposed to be on lockdown," he pointed out.

"Doesn't matter, she's here now," the second woman told him.

Then there was crying, crying that could only come from an infant and I glanced over the screen they had put up to block mom's view. "Oh, mama he's beautiful," I told her softly while they disconnected the umbilical cord. She smiled, and exhaled with relief, her eyes bright and feverish. The nurses took him to the other end of the room where they began to clean and examine him. "You'll get to hold him soon, don't worry."

She was shaking her head before I even finished the sentence, and pulled the mask down. "No, no, not now, can't risk it," she muttered in a panic.

"Okay, okay," I soothed, still brushing through her hair with my clammy shaky fingers, "That's okay, don't worry about it." A nurse, whose face I can't recall pushed him into my arms, and I took him without hesitation. "What's his name though Mama? What are we gonna call him, he needs a name."

She smiled at me once again, and then at him, extending her hand to softly brush against the blanket he was swaddled in. "Peter," she cooed softly.

It was a nice name; simple. Too simple for her, considering what she named me. "Why Peter?"

God, she looked so tired. "I just- ya always loved Peter Pan," she replied, "Ever since you were a little girl. It was yer everythan', I couldn' get it out of my head, and just I started callin' him Peter. And it just seemed to fit. It's silly."

I choked a laugh and sniffled, not even realizing that I had begun to cry. "Ain't silly. It's perfect. All right, Peter. Peter what?"

"...Peter Benvolio."

"Aw hell Ma," I cringed. "You gotta stop with the Shakespeare thing, the kid's gonna get bullied. God, I'm so sorry Peter, Ma's loopy on the drugs."

"Puck, I'm so sorry, baby girl, m'sorry," she breathed, and it felt like I couldn't breath myself.

"It's okay Mama, it's okay, you're gonna be fine."

"M'not baby girl. I'm sorry."

I had scoffed at her, "Don't be sorry Mama, you got nothin' to be sorry'bout."

She shook her head dazedly. "Nah, I got plenty to be sorry 'bout. But not you two," she said, looking at Peter and I with pride, "You two were good. Best things I've ever done. Peter and Puck," and then she laughed, "Two of literature's most mischievous characters. If he's ever like you, yer gonna have yer hands full, baby girl."

"Don't talk like that," I ordered. "We're both gonna have our hands full."

"Ain't we anymore baby. M'sorry. Love ya Puck. Tell Peter I love him too."

"What-?" I started, before I noticed the doctors and the nurses weren't doing anything, they just stood there watching. "Why aren't you sewing her back up?"

The lone female nurse gently tried to approach me. "She's been infected Ms. Montgomery. There ain't nothin' we can do."

The door burst open again, and the sound of screaming and shouting and gunshots that I hadn't heard before filled the room. My mother was crying hopelessly, and Peter was wailing like any other healthy newborn, and some military man with a huge ass gun and a shit ton of armor was standing in the doorway waving us out and the situation was just so wild and unknown that I couldn't comprehend it and I felt like I was going to hyperventilate with how fast everything was going through my head.

"We gotta move out!" the soldier was yelling.

I shook my head, clutching Peter tightly to my chest, "What the fuck is going on? Why aren't you helping her?!" They all tried to usher me out, but I was resistant.

"It's too late, the hospital is being overrun, we have to go!" the soldier yelled at me again, finally forcing me out of the room by grabbing my upper arm and yanking me towards him.

"Overrun by what?!"

And suddenly, a bloodied, disfigured face was surging towards me and my brother, teeth snapping, and by instinct I kicked him or her or _it _away from us, screaming as I backed away. The soldier pushed me behind him and shot it in the head once. Just once. And it stopped moving.

"That," he answered. I held Peter closer, if that was even possible, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he continued to screech. I felt like I was going to throw up, or pass out, or possibly just start screaming and crying like Peter.

"And you're just gonna leave my mom open there like a buffet table for whatever the hell those things are?! What kind of doctors- what kind of _people _are you?!"

The soldier, whose name I later learned to be Corporal Maze, turned to me. I couldn't see his face, due to all the gear on him, but I could tell he considered me for a long moment and then Peter, and he sighed.

"The kind that get the ones who have a chance out," he told me. "Now, move."

I obeyed that time, caught in some some kind of a daze, but I somehow managed to process that he while he sent me and the others ahead of him, he stayed behind for a moment. I heard him fire another single shot and the door we had just come out of close, before his heavy booted footfalls caught up with us.

And in my head, I could hear my mother crying and whispering my name like a prayer.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry, gonna start yet another fic that I probably won't update regularly. Whoops. Just needed to get this out of my system after seeing season 5's finale Sunday. That was a wild ride.

Let me know what you think.


	2. Surprise!

Chapter Two

_Or_

Surprise! You Have a Newborn in the Middle of the Apocalypse- FUCKIN' THANKS MA

_I had Carl read through my first chapter. He says half of what I've written will probably be censored because of my profanity. Rick's also kind of pissed, cause I let his son read it. Basically, it went down like this:_

"_The hell is this, Puck?" Rick demands from me as he approaches, holding up the pretty floral journal I've... borrowed from Beth (she has like ten of the things). I was outside, tending to the small garden Rick, Carl and I had cultivated when we first got to the prison. Peter is with me, intent on capturing a rather large snail he'd caught sight of a few minutes before (which he later ate) while gurgling and babbling to himself._

"_Uh, well, it looks like one of Bethy-babe's journals, Rick," I tell him, hoping to buy myself time to think of a acceptable excuse. Because I'm not an idiot, I know why he's upset. He's directly in front of me now, and I smile innocently, my dirty hands clasped behind my back while I bat my big green eyes at him. Rick has always been a sucker for them. He opens the journal and shows me a page full of my messy handwriting._

"_Why's it got your writin' in it? Why's it clearly got your vast arsenal of cussin' in it? Why did you give it to _Carl_ to proofread?"_

_I give a dramatic shiver, and giggle. "Oh Rick, you know it makes me all tingly when you talk like that-"_

"Puck_."_

"_Oh my God, the dead are walking and eating the living, but God forbid your son read something that's got the word fuck in it a few times. Should this really be a concern? Compared to those guys-" I point to the fence to our left where Walkers have crowded around, "What's a few shit's and damn's tossed around?"_

"_You're corruptin' my son, Puck," he claims, but he's amused, I can tell. He has a frown, but of course he has to at least act like he's serious when he's scolding me, and it's twitching as he tries to stop from smiling. His eyes are a bright blue, dancing with the most positive emotion I've ever seen from him in a while._

_I laugh sweetly, "Oh, hon, you think that's bad? I haven't even _started_ getting to the nitty-gritty bits, darlin'," I drawl, cocking my hip and leaning on the shovel I had been using a minute prior to this conversation, "I am a very dirty, wicked girl, Rick Grimes. Don't worry though, I'll let only you read _those_ chapters."_

_And oh._

_My._

_God._

_Watching our almighty leader blush and stammer like a little school boy talking to his crush for the first time is the greatest thing I have ever witnessed _to this day_. I've done it to Daryl a bunch of times (and it still hasn't gotten old), and I have tried and tried again to get Rick to do it for weeks without luck- until now. Shoot me if I ever stop taking advantage of it._

_Eventually Rick just sighed and shook his head, a brilliant smile finally overtaking his face as he used the journal still in his hands to point at me, and he said, "You best watch it, woman. You better not mess around with me," and he began to walk away, ignoring my smartass reply of-_

"_Yeah? What are you going to do, Rick? Arrest me? Kinky, I like it!"_

_And I'm just now realizing that Carl is going to read this and know that I flirted pretty heavily with his father, and that's going to be a really weird conversation when he corners me about. Then again, I flirt with practically everyone. So, long story short, if parts of what I write are censored, rest assured it ain't for the cursing._

_But I digress. This is a record of our history, of what we went through, not a romcom (though hell, it may turn out that way, I still have no idea). Last I left you, Corporal Maze had just mercy-killed my mom, though I hadn't really processed that until later, and then we'd finally made it somewhere safe..._

It took me about three days to snap out of the blurred haze I fell under after making it outside of the hospital. We lost everyone but the soldier who found us originally and the female nurse who helped deliver Peter; I won't regale you with the tale of how- I can barely remember it myself. There was a lot of screaming. A lot of blood. A lot of squelching, ripping noises.

I'd blocked out the rest.

The soldier told us that we were the last to evacuate when we settled into a military medevac helicopter, and said that we were on our way to Fort Benning. I didn't argue, didn't say anything at all, just stared down at little Peter resting in my arms. He'd fallen quiet, staring back at me too, and I marveled at his lovely dark blue eyes. And then I realized that one of the first sights he had ever seen was someone being ripped apart and eaten, and my heart fell to my stomach.

Fort Benning was chaos when we arrived. Civilians were frantically running around everywhere, looking for their families and getting underfoot of the soldiers trying to do their damn job. I stood in the middle of it all, watching and, for all intents and purposes, lost. The soldier had been ordered to be somewhere else, while the nurse left to make herself useful in the medical area- whatever it was called and wherever it was located. The shouting was making Peter cry again, and my attention instantly focused on him without me even thinking it through. I cooed and talked to him, bouncing and rocking him at the same time, feeling oddly calm and put together considering what we had just been through and what was yet to come.

But I was very much the opposite of put together, I realized on the third day. I was just disconnected. For the first time in 72 hours I diverted my attention from Peter to observe my surroundings, and then I thought, _yes, that's right_ as I remembered that we were put into a large house with other single mothers. Peter and I shared a room with one other woman and her six month old daughter. Our room was bare; two twin beds set up on either side, and one of those plastic portable cribs were at the end of each bed. The sheets were white for all of it, save for the blanket Peter had been swaddled in back at the hospital which was a light blue and dotted with little darker blue and white whales. The walls were a cheery yellow, and the floor a sturdy light colored hardwood.

I hated it. I felt like the room was mocking me, with its nursery-esque appearance.

Peter and I were alone in there. He was awake, squirming and smiling without any real reason, so I took him, that stupid blue whale blanket, a diaper bag I'd been given by one of the moms, and a bottle I had made earlier since his feeding time was coming up soon, and went downstairs. The moment I opened the door, I was met by the sound of crying babies and weeping mothers, and I knew what I was going to see as soon as I made it to the living room: women huddled together and crying over lost spouses, some trying to get it together for the sake of the child they were now left with, while others ignored theirs completely, choosing to wallow in self-pity until their heart suffocated.

I hit the final stair on the staircase, trying to keep my gaze straight ahead on the front door and not acknowledge the mourning party going on in the room to my left- but I couldn't help it. I was so close to the door and my head just turned on its own accord and I saw everything I imagined playing out right in front of me. It was _worse_ than I imagined. There were girls younger than me in there, women as old as mom was, and the older ones were trying to console the younger. I could pick out my new roommate trying to stop a child who wasn't even hers from crying, while her own daughter was still tucked in her arms.

It was depressing, it was heart-wrenching. It made me want to yak up whatever I had eaten that day which I don't think was anything at all, and I just panicked, surging towards to the door and yanking it open then slamming it behind me as soon as we were out.

You get three deep breaths, dad always said. _Three breaths, then you move your ass, Lyla Puck. _So three gulping near-hysteric breaths later, my heart was slowing and the bottle in my hand was stilling from its shaking. I loosened my grip on it, fearing I might crack the flimsy plastic it was made of.

"Are you all right, ma'am?"

Startled, I snapped my head forward, making eye contact with a man dressed in army camo and combat boots standing uneasily in the middle of the street just outside the house with some kind of service rifle. I couldn't identify what kind, mostly due to the fact that I wasn't close enough to see it, but also because I didn't know enough about guns to be able to anyway. My mouth opened to form words as I glanced behind me to make sure he was actually addressing me.

"Yeah," I answered, when I registered that I was the only one on the porch. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."

He nodded and turned his head away to look down the street that was empty save for a few soldier milling about. Patrolling, most likely. The house Peter and I were assigned to was still part of the walled base, but far enough out to be distanced from where the main action was. I didn't like it, it made me feel vulnerable to be that far away from the people who were supposed to protect us. Even if they did put patrols on the street.

"You finally snap out of it?" He grunted.

I reeled back. "Excuse you?" I asked sarcastically and narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not sure I follow, _sir_."

"Whatever the hell kind of funk you've been in. It's about time you started paying attention to what's going on. To what's happening with that baby instead of just caring for it like you're on autopilot."

I let out a shocked laugh that sounded very far from amused, while I vaguely recognized the voice. "Who the hell do you think you are? How would you even fucking know, jackass? You-" I stopped mid-sentence as I finally placed the voice, growing angrier than I had ever felt before. "You're the one who left my Ma," I accused.

He sighed heavily and began to approach Peter and I, and I could see the muscles working in his well-defined jaw as he clenched and unclenched it. He walked up the two steps it took to make it up on the porch, and didn't stop until he was within arm's reach. I took a step back, glaring up at him and itching to sock him in that pretty mouth of his.

"I'm sorry," he said, chin high, "I know it don't account for much, ma'am, but I am." I sneered. He was damn right about that one. "The base hospital is just half a block down," he suddenly informed me, nodding down at Peter, "If you want him to get checked out. There wasn't a lot of time... Before."

I'd been staring at his forehead, deigning him unworthy for eye contact until I slipped up and my gaze traveled down. The last thing I expected was to be looking into stern (like his expression) but kind and concerned blue eyes. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut, and Ma always told me to trust my gut.

_The mouth can lie, but the eyes can't hide the truth. Your instincts are strong, baby girl, and they ain't gonna mislead you. If you look into someone's eyes and don't like what they say, don't trust them_.

When I looked into this soldier's eyes, a man I didn't even know the name of, I didn't have to search very hard to find what I wanted. I knew I was standing in front of someone who was sorry that it had come to making that kind of choice, for what he had to do, and if there was another option, he would have taken it. But he wasn't sorry that he did it in order to get us out safely. And while I understood, only part of me was okay with it.

He was still gazing down at me, and it took me a good half a minute to come to a decision. "Hospital, you said?"

He uttered a quiet "Yes, ma'am," which I cut him off halfway through to notify him that my name was Puck and he'd better damn well drop the ma'am. He nodded once and offered to escort me and Peter to the hospital, seeming like his earlier rudeness had run out. At first I declined, but he told me that I would have to go with someone else anyway if not him; civilians were not allowed to roam without a military chaperone for now. I had no choice but to be convinced.

It was about a fifteen minute walk there, spent mostly in silence except for the few times I tugged him back by the edge of his arm sleeve and told him to slow down because he was walking too fast. He didn't apologize for that, but then again, I didn't really expect him to. I had already gotten the impression that he wasn't much of a talker.

One thing I happened noticed was the lack of constant gunfire. I would hear a couple of shots every minute or so, but it was nothing compared to what I'd been hearing for days. I was afraid of what that meant. Every time I flinched, I could feel his eyes travel towards me, but he wouldn't say a word. I didn't know how to feel about that one.

There was also a distinct absence of people in the hospital, I noted once we arrived through the automatic sliding glass doors. We were greeted by a haggard, but smiling nurse at the front desk and she asked us what we were here for. I explained to her that Peter had been born literal seconds before we were forced to evacuate and he didn't have a chance to go through a full check-up. She understood, directed us to an empty room, and let us know that she would send in the pediatrician.

There was an awkward moment where the soldier just stood inside the room with Peter and I, before he said, "I can wait outside," and moved towards the door. He seemed to be uncomfortable.

Good.

"Nah," I drawled easily, not looking at him as I settled into a chair and set the diaper bag on the floor beside me, "You can stay," and I wasn't exactly giving him a choice to decline. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pause, his hand halfway to the knob before it clenched into a fist and he let his arm fall back to his side. He drifted off to the side of the exam table where he could stand ramrod straight without getting in the immediate way of the doctor. I plainly observed him position his hands behind his back and fix his feet so they were shoulder-width apart, securing his stare to the white wall across from him. I almost laughed, until Peter began to cry, starting as a whine before growing into a wail, and I coaxed him into taking the nipple of the bottle I had still been holding. The milk was warm by then undoubtedly, but he probably liked that better anyway.

"There ya go, Peter," I cooed softly, smiling widely while he gulped it down, "Bottoms up, kiddo." I could sense the soldier's eyes on me once again, and when I glanced up at him, I saw them slide back to the wall. I decided to make conversation, starting with something I'd been meaning to ask for the last twenty minutes. "Are you going to tell me your name anytime soon, or am I going to have to guess it?"

He cleared his throat. "Corporal Thomas Maze, ma'a-" at my hard glance, he quickly corrected himself, ending the banned word with a strangled and slow, "Puck," like it physically pained him to call me by such a familiar name. The thought made me grin, and he eyed me with wariness.

"All right, Corporal Maze," I said on a sigh, "Would you mind explaining what you meant earlier?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Puck."

I bit the inside of my cheek, telling myself to let the title slide. I was getting the notion that his comment of '_you snap out of it yet_' and everything following it had been something entirely impulsive. He probably didn't even know he'd said it until after it was already out of his mouth.

"_I mean_," I stressed, not buying his attempt at denial, "How did you know about my... Period of shock? This is the first time since Monday that I've even seen a glimpse of you."

"Cause you haven't been looking," he said, frowning at himself when he said it.

My eyebrows raised high. "Well, true I haven't been looking specifically for you-"

"I meant at anything." There was a long pause where I considered his words and waited for him to continue. He clenched his teeth together, and I could see as plain as day an internal battle wage as he struggled to formulate either an explanation or an apology for speaking so freely. Resolve finally cleared his eyes and he looked directly at me. "You take care of that kid, I'll give you that, but you haven't been doing it with that primary intent. You come out to sit on the porch everyday at the same time with him in your arms. I walk by on patrol at the same time and I see you. You never remove your sight from him, barely move except to give him a bottle. You've been in some kind of a daze, operating solely on-"

"Autopilot."

He nodded. "That's a dangerous thing, Miss Puck. You haven't been aware of your surroundings for three days, and it might have gotten you and your boy killed if the walls fell."

"He's not my son."

"He is now."

Another quiet moment where all that was heard in the room was Peter's determined suckling. Then, Corporal Maze inhaled deeply, and went on to drive the point home.

"When was the last time you showered? The last time you ate? Do you even know what you're wearing at the moment, Miss Puck, without looking down to check?"

I winced with each question he threw at me like they hurt me, even if he said them gently, and tightly squeezed my eyes shut.

_I don't know._

_I don't know._

_I don't-_

"I don't know," I wheezed out in a breath. "God, I don't know. I don't know how to do this, I never expected to be taking care of a newborn on my own in the middle of some kind of fucking apocalypse, I don't know!"

"We don't expect a lot of things, Miss Puck," the Corporal said softly, "But we still have to deal with them when they happen."

I laughed thickly, swallowing tears back and sniffling as I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "That's for damn sure." He spared a little upturn of his lips, and then he was back to staring at the wall, and I found myself wishing he would talk more. That had been the first real conversation I'd had in days, and I craved it. As soon as I had the thought, however, the doctor finally made her appearance. After I introduced myself and Peter, his examination was quickly done, and he was declared 'fit for duty', as the Doc said. I was also told that if I was going to have him circumcised, now was the time to do so.

"I can do it today, if you'd like, Ms. Montgomery. My schedule is _very _free at the moment."

I asked what the benefit of it was, how long the procedure would take, risks involved, and how long it would take little Peter to recover. Ultimately, I decided to go for it and she gave me paperwork to fill out while she prepped a room.

About two hours later I was able to leave with a doped up Peter- which sounds worse than it is: he still had the effects of a local anesthetic going through his system and he was kind of out of it. Otherwise, he was fine, which surprised me but I wasn't going to question it. So long as he didn't seem to be in pain.

The journey back to the house we were assigned to was exceptionally less awkward, as it appeared the air had been cleared between Corporal Maze and I. The sky was much darker now, and it was probably about six in the evening. For the first time in a while, I noticed I was starving and exhausted, and I think Maze picked up on it, because he smoothly slipped the diaper bag from my shoulder and hung it on his own without a word. I didn't say anything about it either. I may have still been a little sore over what he'd done a few days ago, but my shoulder was even more so; that diaper bag weighed a fucking ton.

We'd just turned the corner, still closer to the hospital than what was now home, when I heard a dog's deep, echoing _boof_ come from behind, and I jerked to a stop. It took Maze a second to notice, and he turned with a furrowed brow, only to come face to face with my bright grin.

"Was that a dog?" I asked in a delighted whisper, "Please tell me that if I look behind me I'm going to find a dog."

Maze was confused, but all kinds of amused at the same time as he answered, "Yeah, you're going to find a dog."

It took everything in me not to squeal and not to cry with joy, because after everything Peter and I had been through, this felt like the greatest moment I'd ever experienced. Second to Peter's birth, of course.

"Okay, okay" I said, blowing out a breath of hot air to calm and prepare myself as the dog barked a few more times. "Do you think I can I pet it? I don't want to turn around and see it and get my hopes up, and then not be able to pet it. Because that would just- it would kill me, Corporal Maze."

He looked somewhere above my head and then back at me. "I'm sure you can pet it," he said with ease and he barely even got the first letter of the third word out before I was spinning around to greet the dog that had blessed me with a greeting of its own, and oh my God. I was graced with the glorious sight of what could only have been a fully grown black Great Dane lying on the front porch of the house we just passed.

I was off and running. Or power walking, Peter was sleeping and I didn't want to wake him by jostling him. In any case, I was excited and I wasn't going to waste another second when I could be socializing with what could very well be the last dog I would ever see.

"Oh my God, _hi_," I told the Dane when I got close to the steps of the porch, "May I pet you?" and I held out my hand for him to sniff, which didn't seem necessary because his tail was wagging a hundred miles an hour and he was panting happily, but I didn't want to take chances. He stood with a grumble, stretching his neck closer to my hand and nudged my palm with his nose forcefully, practically demanding to be pet. "Oh shit on a stick, you are precious," I squeaked as I scratched beneath his chin. I could hear Corporal Maze try (and fail) to stifle a laugh from behind me.

"Who ya got roped inta givin'ya scratches this time, Sarge?" A tiny, elderly woman stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a friendly smile on her lips. She was quite the sight standing over the monstrosity of a dog.

"Sorry, miss," I apologized, smiling back at her, "I get really excited over dogs. I'm Puck. Puck Montgomery."

"Wouldn' happen to be the lil' granddaughter of ol' Miles Montgomery, would ya?" she asked me, stepping outside.

I cocked my head, wondering how she knew of Papa. "I would, yes."

She nodded in recognition, a faraway, dreamy look overcoming her features. "Ah, Miles," she said fondly, then raised her eyebrows suggestively, "Now _there _was a man for ya," I pursed my lips together in an effort not to to say anything, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking it: _Oh my God. Oh my God, please don't, don't go where I think you're going. _"Knew how to make a girl really-"

"Grams!"

I have wanted to cry in so many different ways in the past few hours, and now I could list pure, unadulterated relief as one of those ways.

Now beside me, I caught Maze's whisper of "Oh thank the Lord," before our savior showed his face, and then it was me filled with all the dirty thoughts of what a particular man could make a girl do, and I wanted to yell at myself; I just got guardianship of a newborn. The world was ending. My family as I knew it was dead. Now was not the time for boys. But the absolute fucking cutie standing in front of me with the curly brown hair, sweet brown eyes, and a wonderful, wide, dimpled smile was making that conviction really hard to stick.

"Hey," he said, smile never once faltering and my knees grew weak, "Name's Pete."

It was official. I was fucked.

_(Hopefully literally.)_

Damn it all, Puck.

* * *

**A/N: **And thus we end on a much lighter note than last time.

So I took the advice of one reviewer, and decided to keep the little bits from the 'present' at the beginning going. Of course not every chapter might have them, like the next one might not, but I'll throw them in occasionally. It's like a little author's note from Puck and they're fun.

Speaking of Puck, I'm really glad everyone seems to like her. I love her myself, I think she's great.

Um I think I had more to say, but I can't remember right now because it's 1:30 AM, and I'm really damn tired. Don't forget to tell me what you think, and I'll post the next chapter soon!

Oh right, I think one of the things I was going to tell you guys was that I'd try to update frequently.


End file.
